Things Left Unspoken (And the Clarity that Brought Us Here)
by silhouettedredoblivion
Summary: After Red is shot, the true nature of Lizzie's feelings for him finally bubble to the surface, leading to a long-awaited confrontation between them. (How 2x19 should happen/Lizzington/One-shot!)


**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC/TBL and am not affiliated with them in any way. Spader has yet to extend an invitation**

**AN**: I guess this is a bit OOC, but I couldn't resist making this fic the way I so desired 2x19 to go down, because let's face it: the spoilers REALLY killed my hope for resolution by the end of the season. This is NOT my best work, but the situation was one that I wanted to see unfold in writing, so I threw it together ; )

**Plot Notes**: No enemies are coming for Red while he is recooperating/No Tom Keen/No pissy Lizzie. The ideal situation if you ask me..

Rated T for language!

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The searing beads of moisture trickle down her fully clothed body as she shoves her face under the showerhead. She attempts to drown the reflections now trapped inside the alcoves of her soul, but they are embedded into her consciousness. Engrained. Although she may be able to rinse off the physical existence of the fluid that gives him life, Lizzie cannot push the images of blood spewing from his mouth. The gargling sounds that resonated around them inside the close quarters of the Mercedes, ringing her ears while she sat scrunched in the backseat and attempted to stifle the crimson that was spreading vigorously over the right side of his chest.

His abdomen.

His ribs.

An infinite geyser dispersing itself over his thick striped tie and hand-woven vest, life draining from his veins every second that ticked by helplessly.

Every nightmare, every bad thought, every imagined malignant circumstance had become a reality in the time it had taken her to shout at him and hop into her Suburban.

And his _eyes_.

He was determined to focus solely on Lizzie's voice and glistening features, but his overcast globes rolled into the back of his sockets more than once as the painful contortions of his face ripped through her core with unspeakable agony. The afterglow within them was fading, the brightness of vitality was slowly slipping away with each drop that seeped through the hole in his skin. The knowledge of anyone committing such an act, doing this to _him_ purposely stews her insides with hate.

To hell with justice.

This was vengeance.

And in the end, it would be hers for what they did to him.

Screw her moral compass. Screw everything she has ever been taught about right and wrong, because all of it was erroneous. She knew that now. She realized that once someone you love is inflicted with excruciating injuries due to the actions of others, there is nothing you would not do to protect them, to ensure that it would never happen again. Lizzie plans to take down the whole fucking clandestine organization brick by brick, even if it costs her her freedom, or even her last breath.

Her impetuous intentions were to never speak to him again after that moment, but here she was now; praying with everything she has that Raymond Reddington survived; not for his own sake, because she knew how little he valued his own life, but for hers. The notion of losing the man she had become quite fond of over the course of nearly two years was unthinkable to her at this point. She would rather him walk away and never see her again, and deal with the fallout on her own terms. But this? This was unfathomable. Incertitude at a turning point in both their lives. The Alliance was coming for him now, and the last thing Lizzie was going to do was leave his side, not when _he_ needed protection from all sides now.

It did not matter how Red felt about the situation, about her risking life and limb once again for him. He was not in any position to tell her otherwise, not this time. Even if he woke up and told her to flee, to leave and never come back because of the danger in which he was putting her. She would laugh in his face, because while she recollects all of the puzzle pieces lying in her midst, only one concept is made absolutely clear in the perplexity of her heart: _None of it would be worse than losing him_.

Elizabeth Keen cries in the shower, livid and terrified, for the man who has become the beacon of her very existence. The man whom she has secretly coveted, and one she has desired more than any person or object in her life. The rest could never measure up, never come within a stone's throw of what she harbors within the vestiges of her being for Raymond Reddington. The magnetism and animations of the sensations that consistently surge between them was more than unmistakable, because it always set her heart aflame each time she felt his eyes on her. As ridiculous as the concept seemed, Lizzie thought that by simply being in his presence and the energy they could conjure without conscious thought, possessed the ability to raise the dead. If she could bottle those indestructible forces, she is positive they could carry out miraculous feats.

She turns each knob clockwise with weakened arms, stripping her clothes, then drying her damp figure haphazardly. She snatches up the outfit that Dembe brought for her from the fiberglass toilet lid, and yanks it on without a second thought. Pausing in front of the steamy mirror before exiting the confines of humidity, she trails her fingers over the condensation to take a gander at herself.

Her cheeks are inflamed, the outer rim of her sockets bearing a fiery scarlet hue along with her bloodshot eyes. Needless to say, the past six hours have taken a toll on her, and she has never been so close to exploding with irrepressible rage.

"The people who did this will pay," she mutters to herself through gritted teeth as she leans forward against the sink, grasping onto it with everything she has.

She takes a deep breath, wiping her face with the hand towel hanging nonchalantly above the counter. Getting a grip on her emotions, she jaunts out of the bathroom of the safe house. Turning the corner to see Red lying in the bed, his features expand with worry as his gaze trickles from her wet hair down to the dampness he can see soaking through from her abdomen to the front of her shirt.

Lizzie pads over to his bedside, taking a seat next to the steadily beeping monitor that he is connected to, the oxygen tube still present in his nostrils to assist his lungs. The doctors say he will not be able to breathe on his own for at least a week, and told him he should conserve air by not verbally speaking for a few days. This worries her, but she pretends as if he recovery time will be much easier on them than the past few weeks have been.

His lips curl up into an encouraging smile as she settles into her chair, leaning forward to place her forearms on her knees and clasps her hands together.

He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly remembers what the doctors suggested, then points to the notepad situated on the small table next to Lizzie.

She hands him the pen and paper gently, then watches as his palms tremor a bit while he writes slowly. Tears prick at the edges of his sockets, the realization of putting her in such danger places an anvil on his shoulders. Not to mention, the way she reacted when he told her about being the one who was initially responsible for inserting Tom into her life. It all comes crashing down on him as he lies there peering at Lizzie's laden face before he continues moving his hand. She is angry, hurt. But all of the frustrations in the world could never amount to the level of trepidation she is suffering from as she stares back at him. On the surface, she looks as if she may collapse from exhaustion, but the hate and fear boiling beneath the surface of her flesh is keeping her eyes from closing on their own accord.

He scratches the words , "I'm sorry Lizzie" on the paper, handing it back to her shakily. She takes the paper to look at it, biting back the urge to scream at him. She wants to yell at him right now, but knows that it would be terribly selfish of her.

So she responds accordingly, tells him what is really eating at her while she fights the knot in her gullet "Red, I could've lost you today. Do you know what that would've done to me? Knowing the last words you ever heard me say were out of anger? Knowing how furious I was at you? The last thing I anticipated was you getting shot, and when you did . . . I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. I know that you hired him, Tom. I haven't had a lot of time to think about this Red, but I do know that whatever reasons you had, I know that you were just trying to protect me. But . . . but I'm still PISSED at you!" Hot rivulets finally make their way down past her jawline, sniffling her fastly-congesting nose as she wipes them away with the back of her palm. She shakes her head incredulously, refusing to forgive him, her obstinate attitude winning out as she looks toward the doorway, rejecting the urge to make eye contact.

His bleary eyes glare at her intensely, turning his head into the pillow beneath him, battling the suppressed emotions swelling inside of his chest. Allowing the heartache to fall silently, his distinguished wrinkles contort as he flinches at the dark thoughts clouding his tortured soul.

After a few beats, he reaches out to her, motioning for her to hand him the writing materials.

His next words are critical. Critical to the current standing of their relationship. To their future, to what they will become, and what they have always been meant to be.

After waiting impassively for several minutes, Lizzie takes the pad from him, then gasps a sob as she reads the words that seem to be leaping from the page in the darkest onyx-colored ink, "All of it was because of me, and I am deeply sorry. I can't lose you, because it would destroy me. I would rather walk away from you forever, than for anything to happen to you. I was a coward, Lizzie. That's why I was afraid to tell you. You're MY everything. You're the only reason why I still have a bit of humanity left within me. I think you're aware of how I feel about you, but you don't want to face it or accept it. I may not have been forthcoming about my feelings, but things have changed. I have changed, along with my motives."

Choking back the whimpers escaping her quivering lips, Lizzie stands abruptly, unwilling to proceed with their conversation, unprepared for the truths that would echo in this very room.

She thought she was prepared for this, but she is not. Her denial is more powerful than ever, because she knows if she does not get out of this room and away from Red, she is going to shatter to pieces in front of him, then he will know, and she cannot have that happen just yet.

She tosses the pen and pad back onto the table heedlessly, striding across the room in front of him. The air thickens as Red's sea greens follow her as she makes her way to the door,

"I'm going to let you rest, okay?"

Lizzie juts her chin down toward her shoes as she grabs the door knob while she sticks one hand in the back pocket of her faded blue jeans.

As she turns back to look at him one final time while her stunning blues emote everything she wants to say to him, Red has left hand stuck out, pleading with her to allow him to continue their noteworthy conversation.

Lizzie leans back to let her crown rest against the hard wood, eyes pooling as her heartstrings tug at the sight of him in such a desperate state. She tilts her head in resignation, walking back over to the bed and snatching the writing pad once again for him to use.

Their level of communication at this point has become exhausting for them both, especially since Red is trying to have the one conversation that Lizzie is just not emotionally equipped for, not while he is in such a precarious position that has elicited sympathy from her. She would do anything for him right now if he so asked.

Before he begins to write, she mentally acknowledges her refusal and denial of the feelings he harbors for her, standing at the foot of his bed, "The truth is Red, what I feel . . . for you? Okay, let me just say that you have been LESS than clear about the extent of your . . . love for me. Because that's what it is. I may not be able to pinpoint what type of love, but it's love nonetheless. That's what has made this whole damn thing infuriating. And impossible. But despite how angry you make me, despite every single detail in my life that I discover that you've had a hand in? I have never been able to hate you. I have wanted to so many times, believe me. It would make all of this SO much easier, but . . . I can't."

He eyes her curiously, narrowing his gaze at her, then glancing down at the pen in his hand and rolls it between his fingers. He thinks about what to say next, hovering his hand over the paper hesitantly. Dubiety has never been an issue for him, but in this moment, it is the only characteristic he possesses.

"And what feelings do you have for me exactly?"

She shakes her head, huffing in irritation as she palms her hips.

"Red, if we are going to play this game, you picked a helluva time to do it."

He shakes his head then scratches on the paper again, "Not a game Lizzie. And if you insist on being here, then I want to give you some long overdue answers, and they may not be the answers you've been seeking since the beginning, but they're answers nonetheless."

She huffs out air through her gaping mouth, rims of her lids filling for the second time today, "Okay, Red. You want to know what I FEEL? What I feel every time you look at me? Every time I smell your cologne? Every time I hear your damn voice? Every single time you are even in close proximity of me? I feel this . . . weight, bearing down on me. This crushing knowledge that I can't outrun or block out. It overwhelms me to the point where I am FORCED to bury it, to push it away. Deny it. LIE to myself and to the world, and especially . . . to YOU."

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead while she speaks, then arching in confusion as she paces around the room, stopping for a moment to jab her forefinger in his direction to emphasize the word 'you'. Her voice sounds broken, nervous, and Red is unsure as to how far he should push her right now, considering the circumstances.

For the last time, Red motions for the writing utensils that Lizzie is flailing around in the air nervously.

"You still have yet to tell me what this feeling is."

Lizzie laughs snarkily, covering her face with her hands as she continues to cry, "IM IN LOVE WITH YOU DAMMIT! And I know-I KNOW that's what it is! I know that I have never felt this way about anyone in my life. I can't stay away from you, although I should, I don't WANT TO Red. And you know, my instincts keep telling me it's for this very reason. That's what I struggle with. I take everything out on you because I'm furious. I'm furious because I feel like you made me feel these things, MADE me fall for you."

Red is flabbergasted, did he hear her correctly? His lips part in disbelief at the sheer bravery it must have taken to tell him, and the shock of her actually voicing the words aloud. His pulse is prominent, leaping to the exterior of his skin without hesitation, and Lizzie notices. He is terrified. He never anticipated that she could ever reciprocate romantic feelings for him, and he would have been naive and selfish to believe such an impression.

He honestly does not know what to say, because this is far more than he could have ever hoped for, ever dreamed to happen, but it is a damn shame that it came at such an inconvenient time.

Lizzie stands at the end of the bed, wringing her grip on the plastic railing over and over as Red stares at her, only blinking a few times before he realizes what he should do.

Whatever he decides, Lizzie knows that it is out now, hanging in the air between them. She just wanted to say it, then forget it. But, matters of the heart have never been so effortless with Raymond Reddington, especially ones concerning his Lizzie.

Her stare is affixed where the blanket is situated snuggly over his feet, and notices it is no longer covering one of his legs. Through salty tears and fraught nerves, Lizzie walks over to his right side, tenderly pulling the blanket back over his body. Showing him such care has come so naturally to her that she questions herself as to why she has been fighting these emotions all this time.

As she tucks the blanket into his side, Red trails his hand over hers, then motions for her to sit beside him.

He knows he should save his breath, but he verbalize his next words, and not on that ridiculous notepad.

"I hope one day you will allow me to explain my actions, Lizzie. And I have no doubt your feelings for . . . me are quite intricate. But I don't think you are, as you say, in love with me."

Lizzie tilts her head sideways, mirroring his mannerisms subconsciously. It had become something of a habit for which she was not even aware.

She grins intently, her teeth showing as she closes the distance between them, stopping short of his soft lips. Her orbs flicker from his eyes to his mouth and back again.

"You know what I feel. Because you feel it, too. I see it. I see it with every glance, hear it with every spoken word, in the tenor of your voice. Red, I know what it is I'm feeling. I think it is you who is in denial now. Or maybe you just cannot believe it because of my age and everything that has transpired between us. Regardless, I need you to know, that I do. I love you. And only _you_."

The only way she would be able to describe his reaction would be one full of relief and jubilation. His eyes luminating with so much hope, and it was an even that she had not ever witnessed in these past two years as his partner. Wetness treads down his face as he interlocks his fingers with hers, looking down at them together on the bed between them.

Ever so slightly, Lizzie leans forward, pressing her moist lips to his as both sets of eyes slip shut in synchronicity. It came more easily than she had envisioned, almost as if she was under a spell she had cast herself. The kiss itself was a mere peck, testing the waters of their newly-uncovered treasure lying just beneath the thin layer of pride within their hearts.

A wave of recognition flashes like memories in the synapses of their brains as their foreheads rest on one another. Lizzie pulls back to look adoringly into the raw emotion his eyes now held, searching his face as if he was the key to unlocking the universe. Framing her face with his large, soft hands, Red smiles vibrantly while leaning forward to place small kisses on each of her eyelids. For the length of a heartbeat, they imagine the future.

A wedding gown and a finely tailored tuxedo.

A baby bump being caressed by warm masculine hands.

Bouncing blonde curls and gratifying giggles of a little girl they have yet to meet.

If only for a moment, Red and Lizzie both know that they deserve the best life has to offer, together. As _one_.

And it _will_ come.

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Thanks for reading! Pleassseee review ;-) I know it's not my best, but I felt compelled to write it lol thanks again!


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